I love him like my own flesh and blood, and I hate him just as fiercely.

He is breaking my heart.

The one I thought my brother.

He holds himself above my fears, my rage, my bitterness.

He holds himself above the broken and ground under, to pious he is for earthly concerns.

The demons sharpen their knives for him as for us, but he is above politics.

He says God doesn’t control us, but I say shouldn’t God punish what is done in his name.

I care not Orthodoxy when it’s wielded like a hammer.

He loves me, but he will not fight for me, will not wipe away tears.

Curses the thugs in my eyes, but the bury or mourn the mountains of corpses in his own.

He is wiser. He cares not about earthly things.

I turn away, return to my own kind.

Love is not enough.

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